


there is no place safer to stay

by teddyybears



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Sexual Harassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21733504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teddyybears/pseuds/teddyybears
Summary: She is six, and Arthur is eight, and they will be the greatest adventurers Thedas has ever seen. Most days, they dare not venture past their family’s grounds, lest they earn their mother’s ire, but Mama is not here today. No— she and Papa are far too busy with the little squealingthingthey have brought home to pay them much mind. (Madeline, they call her. Evelyn doesn’t see a point in giving her a name. It’s not like she’ll be staying, right?) Their parents had waved the two of them off, and so off they had gone. Twin paper pirate hats, two sticks Arthur had named swords, and the world lies at their feet.The Trevelyan siblings, through the years.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor & Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 21





	there is no place safer to stay

She is six, and Arthur is eight, and they will be the greatest adventurers Thedas has ever seen. Most days, they dare not venture past their family’s grounds, lest they earn their mother’s ire, but Mama is not here today. No— she and Papa are far too busy with the little squealing thing they have brought home to pay them much mind. (Madeline, they call her. Evelyn doesn’t see a point in giving her a name. It’s not as though she’ll be staying, right?) Their parents had waved the two of them off, and so off they had gone. Twin paper pirate hats, two sticks Arthur had named swords, and the world lies at their feet. “One day,” Arthur decrees, as little lordlings are wont to do, “I’m going to sail off the edges of the map and find what else is out there.”

What? Evelyn comes to a screeching halt. “Arthur?” she cries out, her sword-stick slipping from her grasp. “you’ll leave me with Madeline and Patrick?” Their eldest brother, at twelve, is far too old for any adventures (What a sad life that must be!), and the baby can hardly stand on her feet! What is she meant to do without him? She says as much, and Arthur looks at her askance. “Well, of course you’re coming with me.“

But that’s another problem entirely. “I don’t know, Arthur,” Evelyn starts, brows furrowing. Where her brother goes, she tends to follow, but she’s never been particularly brave. Quick to cower at Patrick’s stories of sea monsters and pirates, how will she fare against the real thing? She can’t even hold on to her stick! “Are you sure? I don’t think I’d be very good at it.”

He only laughs, slinging an arm over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Evie. I’ll keep you safe.”

* * *

She is twelve, and Arthur is fourteen, and she has very nearly killed cousin Maxwell. The story comes out in fragments, tucked between her shuddering sobs, whimpered into the curve of her brother’s neck. It goes like this— they’d just been playing a _game_. It’d been Maxwell’s idea, as these things usually are, but she’d gone along happily enough. Maxwell had hidden behind the curtains; Evelyn tucked herself behind a bush. It’d all been in good fun. Then— he leaps out at her from behind a chair. She starts, screams, and the world is set ablaze.

It takes just moments for the spots to leave her eyes, but much longer for the smoke to clear. Even so, she can hear Aunt Elise’s shriek, like the whistle of a tea kettle in her ears. The reek of over-charred meat lingers in the air, undercut by the coppery scent of blood. There’s no question of what she’s done. They call for the healers, summon the templars. The world is a blur around her, everyone and everything streaking past. She can’t seem to get a grip.

Maxwell will live, they’re told, but will forever bear the scars. Mother will not touch her. Father will not look. Patrick has taken Madeline and gone, hidden somewhere safe. (Safe from her. Years later it will still sting to think of, like poking a gaping wound.) But Arthur, loyal as ever, takes her into his arms. She stays there, even hours after the deed is done, clinging to the only bit of comfort she has.

“I don’t want to go. Mama, please.” She gets no reply, save a guilty glance. It doesn’t really matter, anyway. Though she may beg, Evelyn is a child no longer, and she knows the way of the world. Even if her parents wanted to save her – and why would they? After what has happened? – there is nothing to be done.

Still, Arthur presses her close. “It’s alright,” he lies, “I’ll keep you safe.”

* * *

She is fourteen, and Arthur is sixteen, and the letters have come from home.

> Dearest Evelyn—
> 
> It has been a long time, sister. I regret that I could not visit you at Ostwick when Mother and Father did. Templar training is far more taxing than I’d expected, and even a few days could mean failure. I do not regret my decision, of course, but I wish I could see you and Madeline. Some days, I even find myself missing Patrick! Can you believe that?
> 
> He used to be so much better than me at combat, but Ser Bryant says I’m top in my class. I very nearly beat him in a duel last week, and my aim is to do so in truth. Just picture the look on Patrick’s face when I go home and beat him! He’s been so busy studying, I’m sure that I will. I swear, the crease between his brows is permanent. You should see it!
> 
> But I don’t mean to ramble on about our brother. How are you? How is Madeline? I confess, I was shocked when Mother wrote. Our Maddie, with magic! Perhaps I should have guessed it. She’s always been determined to be as contrary as possible, after all. I am glad, however, that she’s been sent to Ostwick. You’ll look out for her, I know you will. And when I finish my own training, I’ll ask to be assigned there, too, and the three of us will be together. Perhaps once you’ve both passed your Harrowings, we can all visit home.
> 
> Speaking of your Harrowing! I shouldn’t tell you, but I’ve been allowed to witness a few. I know you’ve been worried, but there’s nothing to fear. I’ve seen mages with far less talent than you pass without trouble. I’ve heard the rumors, I know you’re the First Enchanter’s favorite. How could you fail? Don’t worry so much, alright? And hold on to that good luck charm I gave you, if you really need it. It’ll keep you safe. 
> 
> —Arthur Trevelyan

* * *

She is twenty, and Arthur is twenty two, and a templar has cornered her in her room. There’s the ghost of stale breath across her cheek, an arm braced over her head, and she must stifle the urge to tremble. Fight, flight, freeze. She always thought she’d be a little braver. (And of course she’s considered it. How could she not? Even in Ostwick, the apprentices hear rumors, whisper fears when the lights are out.) “Pretty little thing,” says the man, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. She feels like she’s going to be sick. “What are you doing, all by your lonesome?”

Evelyn retreats as far as she can, back hitting the wall with a dull thud. “I – I was going to meet the First Enchanter.” A lie, but perhaps if he thinks someone is expecting her, he’ll leave her be. Besides, what else is she to do? Admit that she’d been sneaking around, that no one knows where she is? Evelyn may be a fool at times, but she is not so much of one.

“Well, I’m sure he can wait a few minutes,” he replies, smile sharp. Fuck. Her magic is all but useless against a templar, rendered incapable by even the most careless smite. She’s never had much in the way of physical strength, and it’s late enough that perhaps no one will hear her scream. Still, what else can she do? Evelyn curls her hands into fists, gathers a deep breath. On the count of three. One, two—

Suddenly, the templar jerks forward, a curse falling from his mouth. And Arthur, sweet Arthur, stands behind him, fist still raised. Unlike him, to hit from behind, but the scowl on his face shows he does not much care. “Get away from my sister,” he commands, and Evelyn could sob from the relief.

He doesn’t wait for the other templar to listen, wrapping a hand around his arm and roughly pulling him back. The man tries to pull away, to flee, but Arthur will not loosen his grip. Evelyn darts behind her older brother, safe at last. “I’ll have you jailed for this,” he threatens, face near red with rage, “don’t think I won’t. Did you really think I wouldn’t keep her safe?”

* * *

She is twenty six, and Arthur is twenty eight, and the weight of the world rests on her shoulders. A hole gaping in the sky, demons and spirits at every turn, and everyone is looking at her to lead. It’s a heady feeling. It’s a terrifying one. Evelyn feels like little more than a child playing at things she could never hope to understand. What does she know of heroism? (But the mark flickers on her hand every time she thinks to flee, a reminder that she cannot escape. She hates it. She wants it gone.) But she has been tasked to close the breach, and close it she must. It’s with some hesitation that she chooses the mages, uncertain in her instincts.

Arthur all but gapes at her. “Really? You think pouring more magic into an already unstable vortex is a good idea?” Evelyn bites her lip, wrings her hands. Perhaps he’s right. Cullen and Cassandra had said the same, and the three of them are far more versed than she. But she’s made her choice, and Fiona and her people have already settled in Haven. Can she truly send them away now?

She reaches for her brother, something pleading in her voice. “You could still help,” she says, grasping at his hands. “I know you don’t want to follow Lucius.” The Lord Seeker has turned into something vicious and cruel, and Arthur would never want part in his actions. In this she is sure. “You and your friends could join us.”

He pulls away, shaking his head. His face has all but sagged, his expression defeated. “The Grand Enchanter will not allow it, and the other templars will not join you now. I cannot do anything.” _Cannot come with you_ , he doesn’t say, but she hears it anyway. She flinches. Her hands are still stretched out, desperately reaching for his, but he will not allow her to touch him. Tears shine in her eyes, and she sees them mirrored in Arthur’s own. When had things become such a mess? “Don’t fret, Evie.” he smiles at her, tremulous. “I’ll deal with the Lord Seeker, see that he doesn’t come after you again. I’ll keep you and your Inquisition safe.”

* * *

She is still twenty six, but Arthur will never be anything again, because he is gone gone _gone_. In the face she loves so dearly, her brother’s eyes shine like a fierce fire, glazed over and glowing with an unnatural light. Blood rushes to her ears, drowning everything out. Everything but the sight of him, spires of lyrium jutting from his arms, staining skin with blood and stone. In the distance, she hears a cry. It takes a moment to recognize it as her own. Every inch of her shaking, Evelyn’s knees hit the ground. Arthur raises his sword high, prepared to strike her down, and she has half a mind to let him.

It’s her own fault, this she knows. Had she pushed him a little harder, begged a little more, he might have been by her side now. Had she chosen the templars in the first place, perhaps this attack never would have come. Maker. She buries her face in her hands, sobs wracking her body, uncaring of the battle raging around her. An arrow whistles past her ear, and she cannot even spare it a glance. That is— until it reaches its target. There’s the unseemly squelch of flesh, a gasp she would recognize in death, and before she knows it, she has a staff pointed at Varric.

“Glowworm,” he says, hands raised in the sign of surrender. There’s something like pity in his eyes, and it makes her want to scream. “He was going to kill you. He’s already gone.” And he’s right, she knows that he is, but she has half a mind to knock him upside the head, to grab her brother and run. Perhaps there’s a cure for the infection, a remedy they do not yet know. There are such excellent healers among the Inquisition. Surely one of them can help. Surely…

She sags. “Let me do it, at least.” Her voice is a broken thing, trembling and hoarse, as if she had been shouting. Maybe she has. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t care. “I owe him that.” Varric nods, slowly, and offers her his knife. She does not miss the way his eyes track her every movement, as though he does not trust her intentions, but she cannot bring herself to offense. She wouldn’t trust herself, either.

Behind her, Arthur is pinned to the ground by Varric’s arrow. He growls at her as she approaches, struggling even as blood seeps from his wound. She kneels once more on the stained snow, wiping away the tears that blur her sight. It doesn’t make a difference. In but a moment, they’re replaced. Evelyn pushes through them, pressing a kiss to her brother’s cheek. “Hush, now,” she tells him, even as the knife ghosts across his neck, “I’ll keep you safe.”


End file.
